Clementine

This little life.

This little life that I cherish,

much to the amazement of spectators and strangers,

brims with more love

and strength

and fight

than one little soul should be able to contain.

And I find myself thinking how apt that is,

this amazement.

Because I see courage

in her fearless leaps, her scaling

of the giants who populate her world.

I see such faith in her sweet face

when she is caught by my hands

before she can fall,

and she tempers herself

in no manner for that

trust.

She exists so brilliantly

and she burns so brightly

and it moves this heart I thought

was stilled.

They say though she be little, she is fierce

and my God, isn’t she just?

Fierce in all things, in all aspects

of her fragile being,

she hums with exuberance

and thrums with unburdened joy

and she is little

but she is

amazement.

And she is fading, my sweet girl.

She is growing dimmer every day,

with every labored breath that she

drinks from the air that

is more ocean

for her,

her fire fades and stifles

this little life a little more.

She seeks me out now,

perfect hands grasping at my own,

hands I hope never brought her

fear or pain,

and nestles her face

into the crook of my arm

and she struggles to breathe.

So little time left to this little life

and she would have these

moments with me.

Of all the places she could be,

she searches for this one.

She reaches for me

and I will hold her until she

is gone,

lost in the amazement that

such a little thing

could love so loud.

And I hope I was worthy of this little gift,

of our short days and the years that were

anything but enough,

of the little life

in a little soul

that was

anything

but little.